Seriously, sometimes I just have to wonder what the hell is wrong with my mind.
I mean, the only interesting thing I did yesterday was introduce my uncle and grandfather to Candy Mountain and Llamas With Hats, if that tells you anything. If they didn’t know I was weird before….
But that’s another story entirely.
Last night [or rather, early this morning, considering I didn’t get to sleep until almost 3 a.m. and was woken multiple times from 9-ish to when I finally bothered getting up around 1 by my dogs idiotically barking] I had another one of my…strange, dreams.
I’ve never been the type to have recurring dreams, and I don’t even remember dreaming at all, more often than not. That said, when I DO remember them, they’re often so strange I wonder – as previously stated – what the hell could be so wrong with me that I’d even subconsciously come up with the things I do.
They used to freak me out relatively often. I couldn’t go near my yorkie for about a week after in one dream he stood up to human-size and tackled me, all rape-y like. [In retrospect, it’s entertaining and borderline retarded. At the time, not so much.] Disturbing, really.
Last night’s, for instance, was just odd. As usual.
My boyfriend, Drew, and I were in this market-like place. A tall, skinny-yet-evil-looking Indian guy and an Indian girl with blue streaks stare at us from a porch. Drew goes up to them, and a woman I think was his mom stays at an outside table at a restaurant next door. I stand few feet away from porch and watch. They pat him down. Guy mentions me knowing to wait and calls me up. There are stairs up to the house as well as the porch, and something like crushed glass – powdery and shiny – on the very top one. I stand there without being asked and the guy flips out. Disrespect or something. Pulls me down, mumbles about hard sex or something – as a punishment – grinning all wickedly and pulls out a knife.
The dream plays like a movie now, the scene cutting to Drew, just sitting in the chair he was in, knowing he couldn’t help. (Though I didn’t beg for ir; suppose I knew too.) He’s looking at the other girl, in the chair next to him, seemingly horrified by her expression. Scene cuts to her, licking her lips and staring intently, knowingly, at the guy holding me.
Scene flies to a different one. Apparently my mind censors rape. We’re in a dining room, and now it’s either 3rd person so I’m seeing myself, or something else has changed, because the girl at the table who is clearly the one who was toyed with – wrapped in a blanket, cut up, and being tended to by I-forget-who – is Indian or something in appearance; similar to everyone else, but definitely not real-life me. In any case, she/I has a cut on her/my face, a small one on my chest…clothes are torn and someone’s rubbing something on the cuts with a q-tip; there are closeups of this in movie-like format. I think Drew’s there too.
Cut again to a different scene. I’m alone in an indoor pool, at night. I think I’m in some sort of alcove on the side, but I may have been in the water, just hanging onto the side. (I still don’t know if this was ‘me’ in 3rd person, or just watching someone else since it’s still the Indian girl. I think me.)
The original guy appears, and now I’m scared, unlike before. At least, worse. The first time, there was panic, but I hid it. Now I’m petrified. Shaking. I know I have a white t-shirt on, but I’m not sure what else. This is one of those dream-moments where you don’t know what’s going on; you think it’s one thing, yet you’re not confused at all when it winds up being another. I THINK he’s going down on me, re-opening wounds and it’s horrid, but then I’m led to believe it wasn’t quite ‘down’ as far as I’d thought. Either way, something is then held in front of me. I grab it; it’s a bit of white t-shirt and it’s bloody, so I assume it to be a part of the chest of my own shirt (hence the earlier confusion of what exactly he was doing where). When I inspect closer though, I realize it was HIS shirt….and a matching piece of skin from his chest. As to be expected, I’m horrified. I scream and toss it aside, but I know it means he’s gone.
Then we enter the strange part. The echoing voice of one Dougie Poynter (McFly’s goofily fantastic bassist) sounds throughout the room, quite like voices often do at the end of movies, stating the final idea and whatnot. I don’t remember if he was in the room, or around earlier, but I know it’s Dougie, I know he killed the guy and saved me, and I know he’s wearing the leather jacket and pinkish bandana he was wearing in certain pictures available on Tom’s (Fletcher) twitter. (Well, they DO say everyone you’ve seen in dreams is someone you’ve seen somewhere else. So.)
And that’s it. Movie over. The end. Don’t know what happened to my boyfriend, what we were doing there to begin with, why he bothered going up to such a creep in the first place….But alas. Thanks for dream-saving me, Dougie.
I contribute the completely and utterly random cameo to the fact I was up too late last night watching McFly videos for the first time in a while. Otherwise, I have no idea.
Like I said: Weird.